Fated Carelessness
by DingDongFootball
Summary: Albrecht falls in madly in love with Friedrich, but never expected for his best friend to find out; how does Friedrich respond to his friend's emotions? And what does that mean for their friendship?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **

**Oh Good lord, it would appear I'm at it again. I guess I can't seem to leave the two alone ;).**

**This is just one of the couple of F/A centric stories I have in progress. I spend so much time drafting and writing these stories only to grow all self conscious and be too nervous to post them. I've even started neglecting my own original writing, I love this pairing so much!  
**

**I would really, really appreciate feedback as I begin to add later chapters, because sometimes I feel I do a bad job keeping them in character/remembering that this all takes place in a highly prestigeous National Socialist academy.**

**I feel I give them way too much free time ;). I have many chapters finished, and will upload them in the following days to come...**

**und jetzt ein Bisschen Deutsch ;). Diese Geschichte will ich auch mal uebersetzen - Deutsch ist aber nicht meine Muttersprache, und daher wird's auch eine Weile dauern bis ich alles uebersetzt hab. Ich will das zwar uebersetzen weil ich mein Deutsch bzw mein "Creative Writing" (wie sagt man das auf Deutsch eigentlich?) ueben...**

**On with the story:**

**Chapter one**

I never meant for him to discover those notes. And now that things have gotten so much more _real_, impossible to take back, I wish I'd never _written_ them. That emotions once so easily pushed away, with the force of denial propelling them, have become relentless gargantuan roars in BOTH our minds, well, I can only reiterate, I never meant for those notes to be found.

I could tell Friedrich had to get used to the newspaper room. As a poor Berliner boy who'd only known the manual aspects of a physically oriented life, I could tell it took him some time to adjust to the quaint silence of hearing his thoughts; the quiet room, with the window, the typewriter, the long wooden table...

At first the inky smells and clacks and my noisy musings festered and irritated at his nerves like some sort of an allergy, but as he grew closer to me, the newspaper room neared his heart just as swiftly.

The light brown door with the intricate iron castings that swirled along its edge was always bolted and shut. It was more or less my private room, for no one else has such an interest in the production of the school newspaper as myself. Only once we became better friends did Friedrich begin going into the hitherto deserted but roomy quarters, for that was where he was bound to find me.

I was an idiot for not taking better care to clean the newspaper room, especially considering Friedrich's visits evolved from pleasant rarities to necessary constants; at first Friedrich only needed someone to edit his essays, and suddenly the spellings of our language were so carelessly tossed away in favour of our distracting and enticing conversations—ones that lasted until well into the early hours of morning when we'd let time escape us.

And that's the thing; time seemed to stop and outright disappear every minute I spent with the boy who was rapidly becoming my first and only best friend. It was hardly any sort of noticeable moment before those conversations morphed into whole entire thought processes and exchanges, which in turn slowly faded to shy smiles and blushing eyes, to soft laughs, and hot cheeks if one of us forgot to avert a gaze that went a second too long.

It seems quite careless, and only because it _was_ careless. It was an unspoken routine that Friedrich would come find me shortly after dinner in the room, where we could spend time together without the other boys and their scrutinous jeers and accusations. Together, we were without the pressures of our elite destinies drilling into our minds and innocence. I would dim the lamp so its light wouldn't interfere with the natural aura of the setting sun, which we would watch every night, our awe for those twilight shaded bows and arches of night never dwindling no matter how many times we'd seen them.

Then the sky was black, and I knew nothing but Friedrich Weimer. The sweet, open, friendly yet powerful blonde had my attention from the moment our eyes met. And that is why I am in this mess.

I'd shown him my essays and mountains of poetry, scribbled stanzas and edited lines not causing him to blink even an eye. Through showing him my journals and sporadic ideas, I'd become so comfortable with him knowing everything my mind had ever known, felt, and concluded.

My feelings about this Napola, our fates, Germany's iron will, the Führer, to whom I'd sworn _"total allegiance"_ somewhere around my seventh or eighth birthday. About animals and the sea and sky and history and literature, and other nations and cultures. I'd trusted him with ideas and wishes no matter how silly and pointless they were; he always seemed so captivated no matter what, and it was with that same captivation I'd listen to him when he told me his' thoughts.

But no matter how close two boys get, they always have their secrets; and herein comes the act where I play the fool; I'd written these secrets down.

I was in love with Friedrich. It didn't take long—around October, perhaps? As much as I enjoyed and cared about the other boys, I wanted to be with only a certain one. I hated it when he would spend too much time with Siggi or Christoph, for I too was well aware of their enticing smiles and their good looks. Hefe's jokes and warm personality, I felt, brought a colour to Friedrich's cheeks that made me in turn just as flushed with envy.

All this worrying meant nothing, however, because no matter how dashing Christoph grinned, or how hard Hefe had Friedrich laughing, his eyes would lower, only to dart back up to meet mine, narrowed in a nameless affection meant only for me. Our eyes would catch, and our faces would weaken, our eyes would fall soft, and we were in a world all our own.

Too many occasions had Friedrich lied to the boys who'd invited us both to do many things about the amount of homework and studying he had, only to meet me in the newspaper room, not a drop of energy expended on educational stimulus.

I'd become so careless and exposed that I'd begun to dictate my growing feelings for this boy onto paper, and I would feel so warm and okay, and my father's cruel words and sayings meant nothing in those moments; my mind knew and wanted nothing more than Friedrich.

We'd been talking about my writing, about how my father thought my works weren't worth reading and how my mother _claimed_ they were masterpieces without ever having read a line before; Friedrich smiled brightly as he asked if it would be okay for him to read an essay or two; naturally I said yes but leave it to me to hand him the letters and _not_ an essay that didn't reveal my deepest feelings for him.

I spared in those love letters of longing admittance not a detail of my admiration for him; thus one can imagine how painfully embarrassing it was for me when he began to read them, his grin slowly faltering into an emotionless husk of silent shock, his brows crinkling in as each stanza pounded into his mind just how much I love him.

I'd stood, frozen and ashamed, but when I thought he was to turn and leave, when those painful seconds leading up to the meeting of our eyes after he'd read them—he _smiled_. He simply smiled. It was sincere and heartmelting, and never before had I felt such genuine affection and emotion from someone so wonderful.

We didn't speak, we just smiled.

That was three days ago.

Of course things have gotten rather strained since my unintentional confession. We haven't spoken at all, something I definitely don't observe thanks to coincidence. I'd scolded him for his viciousness in the ring two days ago, for being so ruthless and cruel. I reluctantly went to his boxing match, but couldn't stay due to the inexplicable and irrational jealousy that flooded my limbs as I watched Christoph and Herr Vogler wipe the sweat from his bruising body and caress him confidently. That and his harshness in the ring had made me rather angry as well.

I can tell he knows I was bothered, even if I don't mean to be. I knew these were silly reasons to be so flustered, I truly did.

I gulp as I round the corner, toward the showers—I know he has to be there, says my instinct. He tended to be there, I'd begun to notice, for it remained a hiding space from the instructors and unwanted interaction in general.

I'm careful not to let my boots echo too loudly, afraid their resonance would end up scaring him away in moody irritation. Instead I approach the blonde carefully, who looks out the window, shoulders slumped as his arms lean against the sil of the window for support.

I tuck my hands in my pockets, making sure to near him with a careful silence so as to warn him of my approach while trapping him in it at the same time. I feign a nonchalant leaning against the tiled wall, Friedrich hoisting himself from the sil and facing me.

I keep my eyes darted on the white floor, anxious and uncertain as to how to approach _"this"_—whatever the Hell "this" was—for the last words exchanged were indeed heated, and to carry on as if they had simply been lukewarm would seem tactless. To ignore those words, I think, would simply be more awkward than if I were to _address_ the fact that I felt so terrible about it all, and _God_ he's so handsome, and _God_ I'm so confused...

"What you did, earlier, to Peiner " I begin, my tone quiet, and only now do I trust my eyes to lift and meet his.

"That was really brave of you..." I whisper, falling silent and awaiting his response.

He looks to the side, silent, his aura heavy, lost in thought, as if he thinks I'm lying, or making it up.

"Friedrich," I begin, feeling at this point that I might as well just apologise to him for giving him such a hard time two days ago, as if he could have done any different than to hit that boy—even if I don't approve of such violent sports.

"I'm sorry about the other day," I can barely hear my own voice; the air is still stilted with his contemplative weight and I can see his lips smile, just slightly, and it brings me to blush I grow internally embarrassed, my weakness for him knowing no bounds...

He shakes his head, smiling everstill.

"Yeah, about Peiner—I mean, I didn't want' to hit him, but—" and I stop myself from grinning, because Friedrich's eyes scan mine, silently begging for my approval.

Of _course_ he wanted to hit him, but that he would say otherwise to simply make me feel better...

"He asked for it," I smile outright, and I step closer to him as Friedrich smiles fully as well, those dimples setting into his skin, and I swear I melt through this very floor...

Yet of course this awkward sort of shuffle, laced with the burning question of _"what should I do or say?"_ still hinders our speech, our voices quiet, and our demeanors are not as carefree as when we were simply friends—not that we're anything different now.

We are nothing official, after all, considering that we'd fought quite nastily no more than 48 hours after growing aware of the other's feelings by accident; of course leaving us with no time to discuss where to take our friendship or whether or not it was best to end it before we grew more irresistible than we already are...

I've fallen in love with him, but rationale still remains king to my methodical sense of cognition; to stop the relationship now, before it developed any further, would be most wise. My father doubts my worthiness as is; if he were to ever figure out how I feel about Friedrich, there's no doubt he would outright disown me...

And thus it is some sort of uncomfortable, unapproachable status that neither best friends nor _ boyfriends _would interact in. I feel even _strangers _would interact with each other in a warmer than our dispositions these past few days.

"Would you like to come home with me this weekend?" I ask suddenly, and Friedrich can't help but turn to face me completely, meeting my own confident gaze.

"My father is celebrating his birthday," I add with a sheepish quietness.

A few seconds go by, and I swear I can see Friedrich think before nodding.

"I'd love to..." and it only hits me now that I can hear the pitch of his warm voice again and I feel the tension between us draining.

"Then you know to bring a suitcase, I'm leavi—we're leaving tomorrow morning,"

Friedrich nods.

"So then that means we get out of Friday lessons?" he asks, and I smile at his hopefulness, his eyes so bright...

"I guess so."

And we stand silent, but this silence has a prickly static to it, an almost positive' tension, and I _know_ both of us are holding back an onslaught of just emotion, _feeling_, things we want to say and yet, even as the dreaming writer I may be, no means to say it—

"I've to go...essay," I blush, Friedrich nodding curtly.

"I'll see you at dinner," I whisper, because it would be _tacky_ if I were to fall to my feet and _beg_ for him to _please _sit next to me like always, and not sandwiched in between Hefe and Christoph—

"Albrecht..."

And I can't take another step through the doorway when his voice reaches my ears. I turn around, curiously awaiting his question.

"The letters, that I found—saw—read—_accidentally_—" he blushes, and he stutters a little, and it is damn near the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

"Is that really...how you feel about me?"

I nod. And he smiles.

Our eyes remain caught in a dreamy tug of war, Friedrich wrapping his arm around my shoulder. And we walk out together. It may not be hand in hand, or locked in a kiss, but it's with _him_; it's a start.

* * *

**Alright, so what do y'all think? Lemmie know :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Jaucher's whistle is always so damn _loud_. I wrench the covers off myself, sliding down to the hardwood floor, the other boys waking and moody in the same familiar sense; it's simply routine.

I yawn as I grab my shower things, my mood softening almost instinctively as Friedrich massages my shoulder with his large hand, a silent _Good Morning_ in it's own right.

Even the heat fails to wake us, my lethargic comrades nearly toppling over against the tiles—but it's this way every morning, we shower with hardly our eyes open, and dress again the same way.

But somehow, today, as I stand in front of my small mirror, fully clothed (as are my other comrades, who in turn make themselves look presentable as well) parting my hair and styling it with a visibly crippling anxiety (you're never fast enough for Jaucher, and when you rush, you look sloppy), I feel my hands shake.

"You look stunning," Friedrich whispers in my ear, patting me gently and giving my shoulders a reassuring squeeze before tugging me slightly to leave.

"Trust me, you're perfectly in order," he adds, and of _course_ it's easy for him to say, as Aryan perfection who always looks great in the mornings.

"I warned you about laziness, Weimer!" Jaucher slurs in that same damn smugness he owns, his lips curling and his eyebrows tweaking in a haughty condescension.

"You and Stein both seem perpetually unable to grasp that swiftness is key to success Peiner—_always_ makes the last ones down to the courtyard run extra laps," he giggles, and I roll my eyes; does Jaucher not see the other four boys dressing themselves still? None of us are ready to get to the quadrangle!

"And don't think you can get away with this because your father is Gauleiter, _Steinchen_—"

"Herr Jaucher, Friedrich and I are not obligated to rush according to _your_ time this morning—surely Father has informed you that my chauffeur will be meeting us in the courtyard in twenty minutes? I invited Friedrich to come home with me this weekend, Father wanted us to be there with him to celebrate his birthday he granted us this time to prepare our things—_surely_ he's told you—? Unless he doesn't deem you _important_ enough—"

"Enough, Stein," Jaucher snaps, and I refuse to lower my gaze as he narrows his scathing eyes.

"Enjoy your weekend with Weimer, but do not think for even a second I will not report both your performances to your dear _Father_—Herr Gauleiter will most certainly be displeased to hear your sloth is negatively affecting his favourite student's attitude—no matter _how_ many chauffers may be waiting for you in the courtyard," he scoffs, tucking his hands behind his back as he stomps from the room with a firm glance at the others.

"Damn, Stein!" Christoph winks, buttoning his tunic.

"We've been waiting for someone to shut him up—thought it would be either you or Friedrich, considering he buggers around with you two the most,"

I blush.

"I was just being honest,"

"Nah, really, though, he's a damn creepy bastard, the way he's always looking at Friedrich..."

"I noticed that too," I sigh, and Friedrich's uneasy chuckle slips into the conversation.

"It's nothing to worry about, you guys," Friedrich shrugs, Hefe chuckling sadly from his cupboard.

"You don't see the stares..." I mumble, Friedrich punching Christoph lightly on the shoulder.

"What did you have to go bringing that up for? Now you've got him all worried," Friedrich hisses in a voice he honestly thinks I can't hear, hugging me in a sweet comfort.

"Hey, Albrecht, is your father _really_ celebrating his birthday, or do you just want some _quality_ time alone with Weimer?" Christoph whispers slyly in my ear, and I jump, blushing and _damnit_ I always get so flustered whenever Christoph teases me about our friendship.

"Don't be ridiculous, Christoph," I scold.

"Hey, it's a valid question, considering you two are practically going _steady_—"

Christoph laughs heartily as I gasp, Friedrich blushing madly, the two of us averting each other's gazes.

"We're—we're not—_never_—!"

"Oh, come off it, I've known for ages! Besides, Friedrich told me—"

"You _told_ him?" I shriek, Friedrich laughing nervously—

"Don't get pissy with him, he didn't even _need_ to tell me, you two are so damn obvious about it!

Every time Friedrich would claim he had so much homework', he would say he was going to the gallery for some quiet—he wouldn't even bother to hide the fact that he slipped right into that study you two are always in—we could hear that damn door close every _time_, Friedrich—it was always about Albrecht, Albrecht, _Albrecht_ when he finally _did_ come hang out with us, but it would never be too long, because you were off somewhere and wherever _you _were, _he_ had to be—"

"_Christoph_!" Friedrich groans, and I smile, the other three boys chuckling too.

"I haven't even gotten to the good part yet! And then when the rumours went around that you're the kitchen girls' favourite, Friedrich couldn't _hear it_—they were just rumours! No, Friedrich, I'm not done yet—and not that _you_ liked _them_, but _they_ liked _you_—anyway, here comes the best part—I caught him—you know—caught in a bout of _manly self pleasure_, saying your name—"

"_CHRISTOPH_—!"

"—Pretending it was you—then he finally just went ahead and admitted he wants you when I caught him in that little act—'course he told me when he learned you liked him too, I'd never seen him so excited—"

"Shouldn't you be at the quadrangle?" Friedrich moans, Christoph looking around, his grin faltering.

"Oh, damn, you're right!"

Christoph rushes for a few seconds before before he exits in a hurry.

"Hey Albrecht,"

I look up, Christoph's head poking from behind the door unexpectedly.

"Have a nice weekend!"

* * *

**Yup. What sorts of things are gonna go down at Albrecht's house? Oh snap! Stay tuned to find out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy snap, here comes the world's longest chapter. Seriously, I almost wonder if I could cut a bulk out of it and still have a decent chapter. Y'all lemmie know what you think. =/ This is definitely a chapter that I want feedback for. Thanks!**

"I guess I'll get to meet your mother, and see your home," Friedrich beams, and I nod in acknowledgement.

"I suppose so; I think you'll find that my Mother is a kind woman—though sometimes she'll say the rudest things, won't even notice she's saying them—the maids are sweet as well, but when I got older they always tried to catch me dressing—you've already met Father, and the estate it's just so _big_, I could get lost in there," I explain, glancing across the courtyard, my chauffeur still running late; God forbid Jaucher comes out, only to see us still standing here.

"Hey, at least you're confident enough to _show_ me your home—I could never bring you to my well, I'd hesitate to call it _anything_—rust, dirt, everything is so broken and old, it creaks, the whole place is dusty, you would take one look at the outside and would never come in,"

"Don't say that, I wouldn't care where you came from, I'll always be by your side," I grin, Friedrich smiling in return.

"My _God_, where _is_ he?"

"Calm down, he'll be here in no time," Friedrich winks. What _was_ it with him and his incapability to _worry_?

"Besides, I wanted to show you these," he grins, taking a small envelope of photos from his tunic pocket.

"Figured I could show you a few shots I took from back home in Berlin..." he shrugs, pulling them gently from the sleeve. "I can prove to you you'd never set foot in our home, let alone the whole neighbourhood..."

"Friedrich..."

"This is me with my brother and mother on my last birthday," he explains, and I feel my lips curl into an adoring smile—Friedrich's handsome, youthful smile, forever solidified in the contents of the photo, pierces me just as it always does in person. His mother, my God, she looks just like him—

"Look at how cute your brother is!" I laugh, my heart stopping as Friedrich's hand brushes against mine gently as he reaches to adjust the picture so he may see it too.

"Hans, he's a sweet boy I miss him dearly—mom too..."

"What kind of cake was it?" I chuckle.

"Lemon vanilla, my favourite," he grins.

"I'll be sure to make you the best lemon vanilla tort you've ever tasted," I grin, Friedrich smiling as well. "I'll ask Father if we can celebrate it at my home, take the weekend off like now, and I'll bake it myself, from scratch!"

"I don't even need the cake, or the celebration, being with you will be plenty..."

"Friedrich," I groan, the flattery all too much. "Show me your others!"

"_This_ one is me in front of my house—Father took it just as I was leaving for the factory,"

"You look so..._serious_," I sigh, Friedrich scoffing.

"How stoked would _you_ be if your father took a picture of you right before you were off to spend the whole morning shoveling coal—after arguing with you no less!" he mumbles darkly.

"Trust me, I know how that feels," I scoff. "I don't think I've ever _once_ spoken with Father without it ending in some sort of argument," I explain.

"That said, I'm shocked he posed for this picture," Friedrich slips a new photo from the envelope, one of his father, who bears a striking resemblance to his son; I know for sure he was very handsome in his thinner youth.

"God forbid I could ever catch him smiling, though...here's my school, me with Hans, his first day of school my Hitler Youth division, huh, I've got some odd ones in here ah, these are my friends from the sporthalle, right after beating that one kid that was when Vogler recruited me,"

"Look at that bruise!" I sigh, glancing up from the photo and up at him caringly.

"It had my jaw pretty sore, otherwise, it just looks more painful than it really was," and he slips another one, this time a less _conscious_ Friedrich sitting with a dazed look on his face, his comrades hoisting his arms upon their shoulders, another pressing a sponge to his face.

"I'd just won that match I look awful..." he grins, my fingers patting his cheek softly.

"You heal nicely,"

"Eh, I've never been hurt too badly," he smiles, looking up.

"That must be him!"

"It is, late as ever," I roll my eyes, Friedrich folding his arms and shaking his head.

"Calm down, don't _stress_, you'll kill yourself early with all that anxiety of yours..." Friedrich whispers, the black car pulling up quietly.

"_That's_ your car? Seriously? It's gorgeous!" Friedrich gasps as it parks, and I shrug, still in a bit of a mood over its lateness.

"It's Father's actual car—I suppose it's nice,"

"Leather interior? Damn, I've never seen a car like this! I'd save every pfennig I'll ever get for one of these things!" Friedrich chuckles, and I smile smally, not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that, exactly.

"Sorry about the delay, your mother insisted I give her a bit of time before I left, she wants it all clean and ready for you two by time we arrive,"

"It's fine," I whisper, Friedrich slipping an arm around my shoulder.

"You're Weimer, I take it?"

"Yes, pleasure to meet you," he nods, and I share a glance with the chauffeur, my cheeks betraying me, flushed with a sheepish adoration for my best friend.

"I think we're ready," I whisper, and he nods in response.

I laugh nervously at Friedrich, who, in a typical Friedrich fashion, seems all too calm and perfectly okay with the world. He lowers his gaze as he pulls the car door open for me, smiling sincerely as our eyes meet. He gestures for me to slide in, which I do without a word.

I cross my legs stiffly and gaze out the window, pretending to have an interest in the Allensteiner landscape, but Friedrich knows me all too well to buy my suddenly chatterless gazes; he has the decency to humour me at least with his own silence.

A few minutes pass as the car begins to start and take off along the road, and the still air crackles with Friedrich's waning ability to hold our silence. I hear him chuckle, and I know it is because he can see the small smile that curls along my lips, my gaze pointed out the window everstill.

But my resolve falters as I feel his large hand wrap around mine, and I turn myself to face him against my will.

It hits me like a wall; our eyes are glassy both pairs it is in his glittering ones that I can see the reflection of my own, staring into them as well. Not even the bumpy roads break our gaze, our grip. Our fingers are curled against those of the other, our eyes fixed and determined, yet powerfully one tracked and focused with a lustful seriousness on the other.

"Welcome home, Albrecht," my chauffer's voice swirls warmly from the driver seat, and I can't help but grin at the sight of the large white estate, it's glittering and intricate windows visible even from here.

I smile also at Friedrich's dumbfounded gaze, it's massive white walls rendering him shocked and confused, lost in amazement. I place a hand on his shoulder, grinning as the car halts and the doors open. I step onto the stationary soil, the maids rushing to grab our luggage despite my protests heading back inside to put it away properly.

"Let's go," I nod quietly to the frozen Friedrich next to me, leading him inside gently.

Of course I can understand his admiration; his family, he explained, could barely keep up with the three and a half rooms they rented in the lower floor of a building—in the poorest neighbourhood in Berlin at that. And with him being such a hard worker, always in the factory, I doubt I've done a _chore_ since my youth.

If only I could give him _something_...

I tug him again, and almost as if slipping from a dream, he faces me, his eyes again alive, and so _wide_ I've never seen before.

"Let me show you around, I think you'll like it..." I grin, Friedrich nodding as I grab his hand, leading him up the steps

"Albrecht, love, there you are!" Mother approaches, pulling me into a hug and kissing me quickly.

"Hello, Mother," I smile, Mother placing her hands against my cheeks.

"You must be Friedrich, Albrecht _only _talks about you when he's home—"

The two beam at my furious blush, albeit for two completely different reasons.

"Albrecht, you may have to give Friedrich your room, your Father's guests have taken up all the others,"

"That's fine, I can take a divan somewhere in the gallery—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Albrecht, I'm not making you sleep on a cushion! We can share the bed," he suggests, and the mere _implications_ of sleeping in the same bed as Friedrich is a startling and yet so _pleasant_ thought, and I _know_ my cheeks are visibly warm—and I make a mental note of not making it obvious that my mind whirls furiously at the thought of all this—

"Albrecht? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Mother..." I whisper.

"Would that be alright? I mean, if we both just take your bed?" he asks again, and I nod, avoiding Friedrich's eye.

"It's plenty big enough,"

"I suppose if you boys will be comfortable with this," she shrugs, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"It's fine...then we'll both have a bathroom, we won't have to disturb anyone else,"

"Wonderful," she grins, and I smile softly in return.

"Mother, there's something I want to tell—"

"Tell me later, dear,"

"Come on, show me your room!" Friedrich beams, pushing me up the steps again, and I stare crestfallen as my mother descends further down the steps and toward the dining room.

"What did you want to tell her?" Friedrich asks me curiously, wandering down a hallway, looking at the portraits of my ancestors with a bright interest.

"Nothing, really, just that I was thinking about entering a few poetry competitions—it's not important," I mutter, Friedrich in awe of the golden framed paintings everstill.

"Not that she's ever cared, and not that Father would ever allow' me to enter..."

"_I_ care, and I think you'd be foolish _not_ to enter,"

"I guess," I mumble, Friedrich running his fingers through my hair as I smile slightly.

"Thank you."

He turns back to the portraits, silence coming between us for only a few moments.

"W-when I said _"share the bed"_, I didn't mean—_you know_—" Friedrich stutters, and I smile goofily.

"I mean—you know I shared beds with my friends back in Wedding, I'm not trying to-to—"

"I know," I chuckle softly, meeting his gaze as he places his back on the wall of portraits, his eyes lively with interest.

"That's my grandfather," I explain quietly, nodding to a greying man whose stern face glares back at the focused Friedrich.

"Father's father,"

"Well now we know where he gets it from," Friedrich scoffs, and I grin softly.

"I wouldn't know, I was young when he died...that's_ his_ father, and _his_ father the line goes back some three hundred years the actual record of the tree we have going longer than that..."

"What were they?"

"All intellects, both on Mother and Father's side none of them were skilled with trades, but researched, and are responsible for many different medicinal advancements—he was a professor, he was a lawyer, and my great uncle an architect—'course my grandfather ran an apothecary, my father was a wine merchant before the days of the Führer—I remember it still, moving from the old home in the country and when Father had first told us this estate was ours That was when Grandfather died when the estate first came into my family, there was talk about who would get to own it—my father of course won that dispute, the youngest of three brothers, my one uncle having long since been dead from alcohol, the other saying Father should own it because he had a family. And not too long after, he became Gauleiter of Allenstein..."

"So then it wasn't 'til after your grandfather died that you inherited the money?"

"Not exactly, I mean we've always been well off, the estate on the other hand..."

"Do you like it?" Friedrich asks quietly, and I shrug.

"It's a lovely home, and I'm glad it's mine I just don't think "

"What?"

"Father says the estate has always been in the family, that my grandfather's family had owned it. Yet it's never been mentioned before, and was _only_ mentioned during the time he first assumed his promotion I—I think he _stole_ it..."

"Albrecht, you can't just _steal_ a mansion..."

"I don't think the previous owners had a say," I whispers, twisting him down a couple hallways before reaching my own.

"I think they were Jewish, the previous owners, but Father never tells me—he _insists_ this was always in our family," I gulp, Friedrich in awe of the grand corridor.

"But he stole it; he must've commanded it would become his upon becoming Gauleiter seven years ago..."

Friedrich places a silent arm around my shoulder.

"It's just a suspicion of yours, don't forget," Friedrich says calmingly. "Don't get worked up, it may not be true!"

I shrug and nod.

"I suppose," I sigh, and we grow quiet.

"Which one is yours?" Friedrich asks with renewed vigor, peering at the various doors.

"...All of them," I whisper shamefully, avoiding his eyes once more.

"My bedroom, my bathroom, my study, and of course my playroom from when I was younger..." I explain, barely audible, pushing open the door to my bedroom.

"I hope you don't think of me as spoiled," I sigh, Friedrich's eyes wide at the sight of my room. The large bed, the French doors leading to my even larger balcony, the magnificent designs and swirls of ivory and marble along the floors and ceilings...the heavy closets and everything.

"Never," he whispers before his face turns into a wide grin.

"This is _beautiful_,"

"It is, but there's only so much beauty that can come through when you're living with my Father," I mumble under my breath. Instead I nod curtly.

"Your Father, he..."

"Thinks I'm the scum of the earth and am not worthy of being his son? Probably," I snap, pulling back the sheer curtains and opening the doors to the balcony, the fresh gusts of fall air wafting into the room.

"Albrecht..."

"It doesn't mean anything, I don't need Father he threatens all the time to kick me out, and I wish he _would_, then I could go and finally be myself, and I could write and travel just _exist_ without making someone upset, with knowing that I don't shame him anymore but, he's still my Father, you know? I love him, and I _know_ he loves me—if he didn't, he wouldn't try to force me to be that what he wants in a son..."

I sigh, Friedrich still unpacking in a heavy silence. I can hear the dull clunk of the suitcase falling closed, however, Friedrich pulling me into a gentle hug.

"Why not just run away?" he asks quietly, and I raise my eyebrows almost mockingly.

"Uhuh? And where to?" I snap, Friedrich blushing slightly.

"Look at the money you have, you could go _anywhere_—!"

"But if I spend hundreds of Reichsmark on an extravagant getaway, he'll find me and bring me back; I can't go _anywhere_, _'anywhere'_ is for rich old couples..."

"Well, you could come to me for a bit, when things get crazy send me a letter, and I would come and get you! I could sneak you away, in the middle of the night, and we could go back to Wedding, and then I'd be there with you! I could introduce you to my family, my friends from the sporthalle, and I can take you out for ice cream, and there's this _amazing_ store that sells fountain pens and stationary! You won't have to worry about your father, and we can be together, we could find a small apartment—"

"And finally just be alone together," I dream, Friedrich stopping midsentence.

"Yeah..." Friedrich scratches behind his neck, looking around.

"Which _reminds _me—this is practically your floor, no?" Friedrich whispers, and I nod softly.

"And it's pretty separate from the rest of the house, right?"

I nod again.

"I guess, then, we're alone,"

I nod.

"No Jaucher, no one else is watching..."

I nod again.

"...Close the door, Albrecht," Friedrich commands in a whisper, and I comply, closing the bedroom door quietly. I turn to face him, and can't help but gasp slightly at his sudden closeness, his eyes narrowed in a devious lust.

"I—I'd really like to—" he blushes, and I smile, my body flooding with curiosity.

"What...?" I ask, Friedrich completely unable to answer, and I can see my smile rendering him incapable to speak further.

Instead, he simply brings his hand to stroke across my cheek, as if memorizing each detail of my face, lost in some sort of unidentifiable emotion.

How long have we been waiting for this? This privacy to explore each other, to get acquainted in a way that only two boys caught in an intriguing romance truly can...?

How long have we sought the time to do so carefully, to take each moment and stretch it into a thousand years, to make it all truly last forever?

He wanted to discover it all, I can tell; what makes me shudder and gasp, and fall deeper into him, wanting more...I can tell because his hands wander my body, and neither of us breathe.

Maybe because we knew each sound made would only draw attention to our seclusion, and the things we felt for each other well, they're forbidden between two boys, and neither of us exactly want to be found...

In an instantaneous moment of vulnerability, Friedrich pulls me into his arms, our bodies close and tight, our loose uniforms rustling as we simply stand in our sudden embrace.

The room is as silent as I left it, but warm and swimming in delight and an almost gentle sense of presence. I can count each beam as its own individual bar of sunlight, and I watch the dust settle in its pale gold, pulling in from the two doors and the room sits just as bright yellow.

His large hand rakes through my hair, my arms linked around his neck, my head buried against his chest.

It's needless to say we've been holding this in all morning, that in the car we couldn't get anymore intimate due to the presence of the chauffeur, but now, we're _completely_—alone it's almost _eerie_.

To see that he wants me, just as much as I do him, and I feel our eyes lock, and I can hear our sudden breathing, the breath we dare to exhale, and his is shaking because my small frame is against him completely, the tips of my fingers stroking gently along his neck...

I can feel my trousers going tight, but I don't mind, because the room is silent enough so as not to break my concentration on Friedrich, my needs ignorable for the time being. I gasp quietly as he tilts my chin, catching my gaze, his hands wandering my back, my own stroking his broad jaw gently.

I want to touch him, badly, and suddenly these damn uniforms only succeed in aggravating me internally— Friedrich's lips grow moist, for he had a habit of licking them softly when nervous—

I feel as if I should do something. Yet I don't trust myself to kiss him, the boy whom I know has the same feelings for me that I have for him. He breathes out loudly through his nose, and I smile warmly as I fall back against him, and, as always when I'm with him, time stands still.

"Albrecht..." I hear my mother call gently, the two of us parting calmly. We give ourselves about three feet between us, Mother however not showing any signs of having noticed our previous stance.

"Your father will be here soon!" she grins, closing the door again.

"I suppose I should make myself decent..." I wrinkle my brow at my uniform.

"Albrecht, you look fine, I told you this!" Friedrich growls impatiently, folding his arms.

"You're worse than a girl—!"

"You would be too if your father always came up with something to complain about," I snap darkly, fumbling within the large oak cabinet, throwing a neatly folded uniform onto my bed.

"Well, guess what ? I _do_," Friedrich pouts, and I make a point to avoid his eyes that glisten in the reflection of the large mirror that extends from my dresser. Instead I rustle along the dresser top, pretending to search for whatever.

"That bruise I had when we first met wasn't from any boxing match," he continues, and I scoff, grabbing a comb and a towel.

"Albrecht, I'm speaking from experience, here; I told you you look great, and, if he's always angry like _my_ father, then it doesn't matter, he'll find something else to get bothered over, no matter how you look!"

"Tja," I mumble, working on my buttons and throwing my tunic across the room. I can tell Friedrich watches me undress with a bit of uncomfortable nervousness; we still haven't exactly discussed _those_ sorts of things yet...

If I weren't so damn nervous anyway, and if I weren't in such a hurry to meet Father downstairs, I'd probably make more of a show for him; instead I fling the pressed brown uniform over my shoulder, opening the door to my bathroom.

"I hope you don't mind..." I whisper, Friedrich scoffing.

"Don't be ridiculous, Albrecht, why would I mind?" he grins sincerely, my cheeks red as the door shuts.

I take my time, redressing, parting my hair, making myself look presentable

"Albrecht! Come on, your mom's calling for you!" Friedrich announces from the other side of the door, and I slip out from the bathroom, steam from my bath cascading in a wispy smoke into the bedroom.

"You look..." Friedrich begins, and I blush, lowering my gaze and shy smile, running my fingers gently through my hair.

"_Wow_, Albrecht..." he whispers, and he pulls me to the dresser, facing me towards the mirror.

"I don't see anything wrong with you; I doubt your father will have any objections, you look great..."

He wraps his arms around me from behind, and I just let myself fall into the sensation of Friedrich massaging my shoulders soothingly.

"Relax, you are so tense..."

"Father will find _something_ to gripe about," I growl, Friedrich sighing heavily.

"You stress too much, you know..." he mutters, and I shake my head before taking a breath and head down the steps without another word.

**D'oh ho ho, it would appear Friedrich's pervin' all over Albrecht! How does the show go on? O.O**


	4. Chapter 4

**am I the only one who noticed that I love "em dashes"? Seriously—they're everywhere in my writing ;)**

Father loves boys with good posture. As a child it wasn't rare for him to straighten me out, arch my back, extend my breast and throw my head back with a dignified confidence. The years of physical _"training"_ pay off now, as I, together with Friedrich, Mama, and the maids, await his arrival.

"You boys look very handsome," Mother coos, and I smile kindly. The maids giggle something, my scathing glare going unnoticed as they obviously whisper some girlish nonsense about Friedrich; I can tell by their shining eyes that I'm not the only one who's quite partial to him.

"Here he comes, get the cake!"

Friedrich shares a reassuring grin with me, my shoulders hunched in a freezing anxiety, one of the maids grabbing a grandly lit cake and hoisting it with a beaming smile.

A car door slams, and I hear the sound of my joyous father. Father loves boys with good posture. As a child it wasn't rare for him to straighten me out, arch my back, extend my breast and throw my head back with a dignified confidence. The years of physical "training" pay off now, as I, together with Friedrich, Mama, and the maids, await his arrival.

"You boys look very handsome," Mother coos, and I smile kindly. The maids giggle something, my scathing glare going unnoticed as they obviously whisper some girlish nonsense about Friedrich; I can tell by their shining eyes that I'm not the only one who's quite partial to him.

"Here he comes, get the cake!"

Friedrich shares a reassuring grin with me, my shoulders hunched in a freezing anxiety, one of the maids grabbing a grandly lit cake and hoisting it with a beaming smile.

A car door slams, and I hear the sound of my joyous father—a father I had never experienced first hand—coming up the steps and approaching the door.

I take a deep breath as the door creaks, the men piling in from the cool night air, and I can hear the lungs of everyone else fill as well as we begin to sing.

"Hoch soll'n Sie leben, hoch soll'n Sie leben, drei mal hoch!" we belt, Father and his fellow officers shouting "Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!" with a bellowing heartiness, Father grinning like I've never seen before.

The maid brings him the cake to blow upon, Father's breath whisking the candles away, the room fading to a dimly lit orange.

Mother kisses him happily, and I clear my throat, back straight, extending a hand that he takes in a dominating grip.

"Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Father," I nod, a small smile lighting up my face.

He clasps a hand on my shoulder, much to my surprise, nodding approvingly.

"Thank you, Albrecht," he mumbles with that same gruffness, but indeed lacking apathy that normally trails along with it.

Mother clasps her hands together excitedly after a few seconds of tense silence.

"What are we all waiting for? Dinner is waiting!" she beams, Friedrich smiling an encouraging smile, my heart as afloat as it always tends to be when with him.

We all take our seats, Friedrich thankfully sitting next to myself; I can feel his hand find mine under the table, our fingers lacing into a gentle grip upon his thigh, Father grinning beside himself as a general from the far end raises his glass to toast, saying a few drunken words—he must've been drinking with them before coming home, I'm certain.

"...and no matter how old you'll get, you'll always be our Heinrich!" he cheers, the table roaring in agreement.

"Thank you, thank you," Father beams, and I attempt to catch his eye—my stomach dropping as he instead gazes to everyone else at the table, almost as if he were unfocusing his eyes as they were meant to reach mine.

"It is an honour to celebrate yet another year with all of you; everyone at this table, I wouldn't have anyone else by my side—Prost!" he downs a shot of liquor, the generals cheering raucously, Mother sitting with her dazed smile as always.

I suppose now would be about right; and so I stand up, much to the shock of the table, straightening my uniform, turning myself to face Father at the head, looking him straight in the eye, seeking the contact he'd denied me all evening.

"Father," I begin, and I curse myself internally for my quiet and shaking voice, reaching into my tunic pocket. Do I always have to sound so nervous and apologetic?

"If I may, I've written a small poem—in honour of your birthday..." I whisper, and I can hardly move my lips at _all_ I'm so damn nervous. The table is silent, but not from respected and commanded attention, but rather a disgusted shock that deserves no uttered language.

"It's called, The Being of Things—" I whisper nonetheless, unfolding the paper and glancing up at Father.

"As time brings—"

"Thank you, Albrecht, that's enough," Father snaps, his voice deep and submerged in offended disappointment.

I hold our gaze for only a second longer, and I know Father can see my eyes begin to tear as I sit down again, completely speechless, broken. I look at my feet, Friedrich's hand instantly gripping mine again, running against my thigh comfortingly.

Why had I even bothered? I knew he wouldn't approve or care to listen to anything I had to say, let alone in any form of some sort of prose or poetry—

"I will not tolerate such nonsense at this table..." he snaps, shaking his head with disgust. "Do they not teach sport?are you not learning something other' than your bookish nonsense and girly dreams?" Father spits, his eyes narrowing at me.

"Do you have any idea how hard I must work as Gauleiter? I work to support this family, to provide you with the very education of our Führer, and you squander it all, doodling hearts and butterflies and lamenting like some lovesick schoolgirl!"

The table is silent. I keep my gaze at the floor, and it's just humiliating', having father say all these things in front of Friedrich and his company, and I imagine that I fall and disappear through this very floor—

"He must do nothing! How have you not gained any muscle, or succeeded in sport—?"

"Father, I do my exercises everyday, I've become a much better shot, I've—"

"Enough, I will hear no more about this," Father growls, and I open my mouth to protest—

"And you're the boxer, no? Friedrich Weimer, the subject of anything my son has mentioned to me ever since the beginning of this academic year—I saw your last match, you were fantastic—! it's much too bad there's nothing you can do for my _son_—" he grins, and suddenly I grow more than hurt—I grow enraged—to mess with me, fine, but to instigate a conflict with Friedrich—

"You'd think your friendship would've strengthened him a little bit, but it seems to've only made him more of a—"

"Father, please," I plead, my voice shaking with anger, Father meeting my gaze with a dominant satisfaction hidden in his features.

"He really is a great shot..." Friedrich mutters, nodding slightly.

"He can also do the most push ups out of all of us..."

"Can he now?" Father asks with a sweet patience, bringing his false smile to my stony glare.

"Why didn't you say so?" he feigns quiet disbelief, and my eyes can't narrow any further.

"Then show me what you've learned, Albrecht," Father responds with a smug calmness, and, much to my dismay, I have nothing to say in response.

"Show me the ounces of progress you've made in your lessons,"

I stand, the table silent, my mind racing with worry—what was there to actually show'?

"Come, Albrecht, show me your talent!"

And I clench my eyes shut as I sit back down, and I can feel Father glaring at me.

"And there you have it," Father shakes his head, and I look to my mother for _something_, anything, and her face is strained and I can tell her mind races too, but she simply sits there, lips pursed, and she says nothing.

"Perhaps that's not a bad idea, Heinrich," an older general states from the other end of the table.

"What if we have Friedrich fight Albrecht to show us what he's got? I'm sure him and Albrecht have spent plenty of time in the sporthalle together—why not have them show us what they've learned?

A drunken and excited chorus of cheering erupts from around the table. I close my eyes, dread filling my body, and Friedrich pulls me toward him, the others not noticing anything. I feel him shaking, his eyes narrowed—

"Friedrich, no, it's okay—" but Friedrich stands up, anger etched on his face, and he faces Father, obviously about to give him a piece of his mind—

"But we just gave him a chance, he can't do anything—!"

"The boys can't fight in the dining room!"

"What about the cellar, Heinrich—?"

"Come, come, boys! Into the basement!" a voice cheers, and we are raised from our seats and shoved and pushed and my feet buckle and clip due to the irregularity of our stride.

"Strip them!"

Hands remove the uniform tunic, leaving me in my thin undershirt. Of course Father would bring us down to the basement, he was also a boxer in his time—

"Get in the ring, boys!"

And I look around myself, my eyes ages ahead of my brain, everything I look at swirling with contrails behind them. I stand before Friedrich, who looks quite devastated in his own right, my eyes wide and fearful, Father ringing his bell before laughing an almost mocking, torturous laugh.

"Hit me," I growl as I extend a fist, colliding with his jaw.

"No,"

Cheers and the smell of alcohol swim around us, a musty steam building up from so many excited bodies in such a damp, small space—

"Just hit me!"

I corner him, pummeling him with punches—some he blocks, others hitting him harshly.

"Friedrich, I'm serious—"

And I prove it by pulling my fist back and punching Friedrich violently in the mouth, the men surrounding the ring groaning and cheering voraciously—it must have been painful.

I never knew I had such power, and I channel it again as I swipe him in the jaw, and I can hear a crack and I know by the way he sways and staggers that I am hurting the poor dear very badly.

I feel my heart stop momentarily as I observe small trails of blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, and I want to _tell_ him that none of this means anything—that I _love_ him, but I just can't say anything as I catch sight of Father actually cheering for me, calling my name, and I keep hitting my dear Friedrich—my fists faster and my punches packing more and more unreleased emotions and I scream at him to actually fight, to hit me—

The basement grows a deafening loud; I can feel the mat of the ring beneath me, and hands lifting me up from underneath my arms—I sway somewhat, and therefore lean against the rope that binds us in—Friedrich in the victorious embrace of my father, who I see shoving shots of vodka down his throat—

"Good fight, Weimer, good fight—he had you for a second there, he did—drink up!" Father bellows, the men roaring, and I glare at them all with a seething hatred, Friedrich twisting in Father's grip, and I can tell he wants to come to me—

"Albrecht!" I hear him call as I tear away from the crowd, all this, and I open the basement door, the air is cool, and the maids look at me as if brimming with thousands of questions, but quickly go back to cleaning the dining room instead.

It doesn't matter, anyway; I slam my door shut, the room completely dark as my head finally conjoins my vision into one solidified reality. Had it really only taken one hit, fast as lightning, to bring me down? Despite the fact that I probably only needed a few more of my own punches to bring _him_ down?

The force of it was so great that I could only sense the actual _pain_ and collision for perhaps a second; the air had escaped from my body on impact, and the next thing I knew, I was helpless against the ground, defeated by the boy who had' a reputation of being an extremely vicious opponent in the ring.

I can't believe I actually cry, as if Father hadn't already given me enough for crying in the past—but this time, I just can't hold it in. I could handle Father's shame and rejection of me; it was simply the way things have always been between us, and I never expect them to change. I could handle boxing against a might as well be professional boxer; Friedrich had told me before that the bruises never take long to heal. I could handle losing, and the pain—but the way he _embraced _Friedrich, as if he were silently wishing to hug him to the point where the powers that be made it so that this handsome, smiling athelete were truly his son, his legacy...

I sob and wipe my eyes, only spreading the moistness so the sensation spreads across my entire face. I head to the bathroom, disgusted with my red eyes and puffy cheeks—I look _ridiculous_ whenever I cry—

I wash myself a final time, placing on my pajamas and sobbing quietly as I slip into bed, my mind still somewhat dazed as if Friedrich were still punching me.

And the sympathy turns to anger as I think about that damn blonde boy, and it's all his damn _fault_, for being so open and sweet, for making me feel things I never even thought _possible_, emotions I'd never knew existed, for that day in the newspaper room, saying he cared about me, and that he had feelings for me too. Damn him for being the first and only' person to ever say those words to me.

Of course the one person I love and admire is the very one that my father adores himself; perhaps it's all some cruel joke, that the two of us both have glistening, rose coloured eyes for the same champion of human perfection; Father wants him as his son, and I want him as my other half.

What was it we saw in him? What is it about him he possesses that I simply do not have? What was it that I lacked that truly made us the compimentary pair we are?

And here I am, sitting here and dispising him so, and I can't help but painfully realise that no matter how disgruntled the whole world becomes at his expense, I will never be _him_. Perhaps it would have been better if we'd never met.

**Wow, Albrecht's a little dramatic, no? Will he stay mad a Friedrich? It is a _mystery!_**


	5. Chapter 5

The room is yellow again. Thank God for that yellow, that very image that only serves to brighten and awaken even when I myself want nothing to do with the starting over of life. I shift underneath my blankets, the same biting sense of emotion from last night just as present from the night before. I want nothing more than to face the boy sleeping soundly next to me, to wrench him from his sleep and blame everything on him, but I can't deny the fact that I turn over expectantly, my arms extended and reaching to wrap themselves around Friedrich not aggresively, but longingly.

Except there's nothing next to me to wrap my arms around.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes, my heart dropping as I feel the space next to me is as cold and empty as if nothing had ever been there. Perhaps he's in the bathroom, I wonder, and I place my feet against the cold, marble floor, knocking lightly on the door, no response—

"Friedrich?" I whisper as I open the doors to the balcony, and no one is out there—

"Albrecht..." I hear a voice whisper from the door way, and I turn around, sighing from relief.

"Friedrich, there you—"

But I blush as it's actually mother's frame in the doorway, smiling smally.

"Breakfast is ready, dear," she whispers, and I nod curtly.

"Are Father's guests still here?" I ask quietly, and she shakes her head.

"No, they left rather early this morning, as did your Father. Friedrich is still asleep downstairs, though I've woken him twice for breakfast—"

"Downstairs?"

"Yes, I was quite confused when I saw him, but he had so much to drink with your father last night—poor boy kept refusing—I figured he crashed wherever there was a comfortable surface to sleep on,"

I can feel her watching me, and I smile smally, nodding.

"I'll be down, Mother,"

And the door closes.

I dress myself and come lightly down the steps, Friedrich and mother sitting at the table, the maids preparing a seat for myself. He looks absolutely beat, as if he really _had_ spent the whole night drinking. But despite the maroon arches puffing out beneath his eyes, or the pupils that expand slowly as the light hits them, the dry lips that sit slightly agape and the unrestred lines that etched themselves into his sleep deprived skin, he still _somehow_ looks flawless as he always does—and it doesn't help my already ruined mood.

I do not say good morning, nor do I give Friedrich a glance. I grab a Broetchen, opening it and placing cutlets and cheeses along its bready surface. I can tell they can sense my coldness, Mother clearing her throat slightly.

"Mother, may you pass me water?" I ask quietly, lifting my hand to grab the pitcher she hands me right as Friedrich reached to hold it under the table.

"So...Friedrich, do tell me a bit about yourself; what do your parents do?" Mother asks nervously, alleviating the silence.

"Well, my father and I both work in a factory—mum stays at home with my brother Hans, though he's in school now it's his first year..."

"I see."

The conversation pauses almost as if it waits for my input. It resumes after I say nothing, spreading jam on another Broetchen.

"Do you miss home?"

"Of course, but things are so nice at Allenstein, and and I've made friends here, but I don't know what I'll do this summer without Albrecht..."

"You'll just have to come and visit!"

I chew quietly, my eyes narrowed and moody.

"And perhaps Albrecht could even visit you!"

"Oh, that would be so embarrassing," Friedrich blushes. I say nothing.

"I hardly doubt it, he'd miss you too much not to visit!"

I scoff and take another bite.

"Any pretty girls at home?"

I breathe loudly as I still say nothing, spreading butter on the other side.

"Well, there was one girl at home I was kinda interested in, but I haven't thought about her since coming here too much...school work..." he chuckles, Mother leaning in curiously.

"Interested? So you never dated?"

"Well I mean yeah, I there was a girl..." Friedrich blushes and beams, and my stomach drops instantly from jealousy.

"Oh really?" Mother giggles, resting her chin on the tips of her fingers.

"The girls have always loved little Albrecht, but he's so oblivious, I don't think he has any sort of idea how these girls look at him..."

I raise my eyebrows, counting the crumbs in the surface of the table—though I must admit, this news is rather new to me as well. I mean, sure, I knew the girls watched me, but I didn't know they _watched_ me...

"I've only had the one girlfriend..."

"She was probably lovely, a boy like you couldn't settle for any lady short of breathtaking..."

"Yeah, she was a real cutie—but nah, we haven't spoken since I left, not that it was ever anything serious. I took her out once for ice cream, she kissed me a little, but no, nothing serious,"

"A _little_?"

"Mother, pass me the water again," I snap quietly, and mother complies.

"Hmm, perhaps you could set Albrecht up with a nice young woman, no?" Mother giggles; if only she knew...

Friedrich smiles slowly, his beam alleviating the sense of obviousness that he too found her statement rather humourous...

"So did you have many friends back at home?"

"Well, yes," Friedrich begins, spreading a light butter against a piece of Vollkornbrot. "But they were all friends from the Sporthalle, I never spent much time with them outside of boxing..."

"I see,"

"I—I was never expecting to make any friends at Allenstein, or meet someone like Albrecht, but now I could never imagine life without him," Friedrich beams, but my unamused face still gazes at the table.

"Well Friedrich, you really are a dear boy, and I can tell you that I'm glad that Albrecht has found a friend in you; he's never had any before you! I find it quite dear that you two have grown so close," Mother grins, dabbing her cheeks with a napkin.

"Leave your dishes when you boys are finished, the maids well get them," she explains, standing up from the table.

"I think I'll go into town and do some shopping, will you two be alright?"

We nod, Mother leaving the dining room, the two of us of course left in our own silence. The high ceilings only echo the noiselessness, Friedrich busing his own plate despite the fact the maids are only in the other room.

"Albrecht..." Friedrich sighs, and I feel him approach me from behind, his arms pulling me against him, his grip delicate and affectionate.

"Listen, last night—" he begins, and I fold my arms and slip from his grip, Friedrich less than entertained by my rejecting gesture.

"Albrecht, would you please _listen_? Talk to me, Albrecht!"

I glare at him briefly before turning to leave the kitchen, Friedrich pulling me back, irritated and flustered

"Please!"

But I don't say a word.

I don't speak to him for the rest of the day, either.

The rolling hills are drenched in early morning fog come departure time on Monday, and we stand (albeit next to each other) in silence, masked in this haze, luggage at out feet, the chauffeur gesturing for us to take our seats in the car, and I spend the duration of the ride back to Allenstein glaring out the window.

"Albrecht, listen to me—!" Friedrich groans as I storm up the castle steps, not even sure why I'm still angry, and I know I probably have no right to be.

He doesn't bother to follow me, and perhaps it was better that way. Even as the sun began to set, I didn't see him at dinner, and I was asleep a bit before the others had come in to prepare themselves for bed.

Friedrich shifts into his bed, and neither of us say anything. And another silent day draws to a close.

I try my best not to make eye contact with any of the boys who chatter away near the window, though this feat proves itself to be harder and harder the more hushed our awed comrades stand before the half naked boxing champion; he'd won yet another match earlier today.

Other than the fact that we are still not talking, I'd say it's been a rather uneventful Wednesday, save the ones whose general mood seems to depend on whether or not Friedrich can top his opponent in the ring.

I try not to think about it, running my fingers smoothly along the printed words in the text about Richard Wagner we're expected to compose an essay from. The feel of that bumpy ink however serves as no blockage from Friedrich's heart stopping grin blinding my mind's eye; of course I steal a glance at him only when I am _certain_ the others cannot see me doing so.

"...went down like it was nothin'—the poor bastard didn't even get a hit in, dammit!" Christoph beams, clasping Friedrich on the shoulder.

"Really, you were legendary out there—!"

"That was easily your best match yet—!"

"You got 'im in _three_ hits—!"

"Did you see the way the Gauleiter was cheering?" they all coo, and I roll my eyes before scrawling away, writing up my musical interpretation of The Führer's personal favourite mucisian.

"What did you think, Albrecht?" Christoph asks excitedly, but I can hear Friedrich punching him softly in the arm.

"He's trying to work..." I hear him mumble, and I furrow my brow, exerting more concentration on the essay.

The room does fall silent, Friedrich on the other hand approaching me—I can tell it's him by the weight of his footsteps—and running a large hand across my shoulder and down my back, patting it gently before the boys exit the room without another word.

Like _Hell_ I'd ever tell him he was fantastic out there.

**Oh Albrecht, you drama queen!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for not updating in a while. It's Christmas time, so that's had me occupied, and secondly, I recently discovered Team Fortress 2 and all the amazing fun that comes with that awesome game. So, yeah, every minute not devoted to Christmas cheer went to TF2 this season ;). You should add me on Steam if you play!  
**

"So, did Friedrich kiss you last weekend?" Christoph winks, and I glare unamusedly, shaking my head no.

"Oh, that _dork_, he promised me he _would_—"

I shrug and say nothing.

"What're you doing all alone in here? The weather's so nice, I thought you'd want to take a walk with Friedrich on the grounds..."

"Not in the mood," I grumble, Christoph humming and opening a window, a breeze falling through the slight crack.

"What sorts of things do you two _do_ when you walk? Touch each other—?"

"What, are you obsessed with us or something?" I snap, Christoph's grin only growing larger by my irritated tone. "Why do you care what I do with Friedrich?"

"Look, I just wanna know what sorts of things you guys _engage_ in—!"

"It doesn't matter, Christoph," I snap, still sitting moodily on one of the lower bunks, fiddling with the cotton of the blanket.

"We're not perverted weirdos—just because we're more than friends, that doesn't mean we can't _act_ like them..."

Christoph bites in his lower lip, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"But if you were _'just friends'_, you wouldn't need to be _boyfriends_,"

"It's not like we—forget it," I snap, playing with the somewhat scratchy cotton feel.

"Wow, bit touchy there, no?"

"You were the one who came to find me, I didn't_ beg_ for your company..."

"Sheesh, I figured you needed some cheering up—He said you had a bit of an attitude all weekend "

"Did he?" I snap, knowing very well who _he_ is. I scoff, standing up and leaning against the window sil.

"Not that he was talking _about_ you or anything—he just said he missed you today at lunch,"

I scoff.

"No, really, he's nowhere near as fun when you two aren't getting along—what did he _do,_ anyway? I know he can be kind of oblivious sometimes, but..."

But I shake my head a little bit, saying nothing.

"Gosh, neither of you are very lively without the other..."

"Where is he?" I ask, Christoph shrugging.

"Dunno, I left to talk to you, I wanted to know what happened,"

"He didn't _send_ you to talk to me, did he?"

"No, this isn't Kindergarten, he said he would try talking to you again sometime this evening he really does like you, you know, even if he didn't try to kiss you like he said he would..."

"The last thing I want to do right now is _kiss_ him..."

"Well, okay," Christoph chuckles nervously, hoisting himself from the window as well.

"I'm gonna go find the others—don't stay too angry, he misses you," Christoph beams, and I wait until he leaves the room to smile softly at his comment.

I suppose I have grown quite used to his presence, the quiet and lifelessness that resulted from my bitter silence lending itself to the general atmosphere. I must admit, I miss him too. I miss his broad smile and ability to make me feel like the world is balanced upon sunshine and rainbows. The knowledge that no matter what, he is always there by my side, had always been worth the world for me; I suppose it _is_ rather hypocritical to let my own over stressed emotions get in the way of this fact.

At the very least I suppose I owe Friedrich a reason for why I refuse to even catch his eye, yet I myself don't even know why I feel so resentful and bitter toward him; I can't say exactly what it _was_ that made me feel so hurt and upset, or whether it was just the onslaught of everything at once—

Having to deal with him knowing how I feel about him, figuring out how to _be_ around him, now he knows I love him in a way that surpasses all things brotherly. And then of course finding a way to balance my wants for him, and yet should I indulge in them, or restrict them, to protect myself from Father's wrath or allow myself the joy of loving Friedrich the way I want to, with no fear, with all my heart...And then not to mention he is his own person—how willing is he to show his emotions for _me_? How willing and comfortable with the whole thing is he to simply proclaim and accept his own feelings?

And it's all so _wrong_, I shouldn't feel this way about another boy! And that father gripped him like a son on his birthday, after ignoring his own biological one, the way he had been for eighteen whole years, holding him a drunken captive.

Perhaps I had plenty of a reason to be stressed, resentful, and upset, but perhaps I was directing it at the wrong person...

A knock on the wooden door rings dully in the dormitory. It matters little anyway, because all I can do is stand upright as Friedrich pokes his head in carefully, his eyes that same vivid but watchful blue as always...

"Hey, Albrecht I noticed you weren't coming down for lunch, I just wanted to check and see to it that you were okay..."

I nod slightly, showing the first sign that I'd actually _heard_ him in days, and he licks his red lips nervously.

"How are you feeling?" his voice still treads lightly, and I lower my gaze, saying nothing.

"Would you stop acting like a _baby_—?"

"_I'm not_—"

"Yes you are, Albrecht! Look, if you're hurt about your father's birthday, I understand, and I'm sorry about what happened, really, but you're acting like a child!"

"It's a lot of things, Friedrich! Things you could never understand—!"

"Fine! _Fine_—! I won't pretend to understand! But Then can I at _least_ have an explanation?" Friedrich asks quietly, and I clear my throat, turning towards him, my eyes narrowed and accusing.

"Would you tell me what you did with my father? And why weren't you with me when I woke up?" I ask curiously, though with anger biting in my tone simply because the suppression of my feelings finally finds a way out.

"What? I was he insisted I drink with him, Albrecht is _this_ what your attitude is about?"

I say nothing.

"One of the generals offered me his room none of them actually slept that night, they were up with your father— "

"Exactly! And you drank with them and forgot all about me—!"

"What was I supposed to say, no thanks, Herr Governor, I'd much rather just go onto bed so I can sleep with your _son_?" he snaps, and I fold my arms.

"You could've come up and told me,"

"Wake you up over something like that? I figured you wouldn't _mind_ me not being there, I thought you would want your space after what happened," Friedrich explains calmly, and I blush, refusing to tell him that was indeed the case.

"Seriously, if this is what all this is about —"

"I'm sorry, Friedrich," I sigh, scratching softly behind my ear. "It's just I was so stressed, and it was all just so much—and then when Father wanted us to fight, it just became so overwhelming..."

"Well, I'm _here_ for you, Albrecht, and I want to help! I can understand if you need your space and time alone, but to just grow all pissy and ignore me because we didn't share a bed, I think it was a little far,"

"Sorry," I mumble, blushing sheepishly because he's exactly right.

"It's alright, Albrecht, just let me know what's going on!"

"I'm sorry, I should've handled it better; I was just so frazzled, and I guess I felt so pressured into taking advantage of our weekend, being alone and..."

"Which reminds me..." Friedrich mumbles, looking past my shoulder as Christoph blows his cover by banging his head loudly against the door he pokes it through.

"Oh damn!"

"Christoph!" Friedrich smirks.

"Just wanted to see if you two were getting along—!"

"We're _fine_! Now goodbye, Christoph," Friedrich winks, Christoph closing the door softly behind himself.

"Let's go for a walk, I have a feeling privacy isn't in abundance around here..." Friedrich smiles at me, and I follow him out of the castle and onto the grounds, the long stoned path trailing past the courtyard and leading toward the otherwise empty fields of nearby farmers.

"Let's go down there," I whsiper, pointing well away from the perimeters of Allenstein.

"Only if you promise not to get us in trouble..."

I nod, and we set off on a slow amble, neither of us speaking for a few good minutes until Friedrich trusts himself to say something.

"Albrecht, I didn't want to hit you..." Friedrich begins, and I sigh, hands in my pockets.

"What? oh, I know,"

"Look, you're bruised," Friedrich sighs, stopping and taking my chin into his hands, surveying the splotch left upon my face.

"It'll fade..."

"And I hope you don't think badly of me "

"It's not your fault..." I mumble, despite saying the complete opposite in a fit of anger that night.

"Listen, just forget about it, okay?" I command softly, forcing my cheeks to rise up in a small smile. "It wasn't your fault, and I know that..."

"Plus, you got me pretty damn good, you know my mouth didn't stop bleeding for at least a good half hour..."

"I'm so sorry, Friedrich "

"Don't be, you really put up a good fight,"

"And it only took you one hit to get me..."

"Well, it's all about the force you put into your punch a few more and you would've had me down..."

"Father wouldn't have liked that too much—I could tell he wanted me to lose..." I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "I hate him,"

"Nah, he was really shoutin' for you, right 'til the end!"

"Still, I hate him..."

Friedrich says nothing, and our slow amble along the path calms me. The wheat fields are empty, the air is cool in honour of the approaching winter, the sky yet so blue as if it were still June.

"I was disgusted with what he did to you your mother sees this, why doesn't she do anything?"

"What _can_ she do, Friedrich?" I whimper, and I turn my head as I feel a tear drop, sniffing so Friedrich doesn't see

"They don't love me, they don't care and they never have! I'm certain they wish they didn't _have_ a son—Father won't even admit to me _being_ his son, he says he has more of a daughter instead—"

"Albrecht, that's just _nonsense_—just because you don't want to box, it doesn't make you a _girl_,"

He sits with me as I gaze serenely across the neverending hills, wind blowing and I see the farm houses a couple miles away, and I lean against him, Friedrich pulling me into his arms, snaking them around me in a tangled web of affection.

"Who is she...?" I ask under my breath, Friedrich raising an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"Do you find her more attractive than me?"

"_Who_?"

"That wench from Wedding..." I whisper, and, though he may not chuckle out loud, I can feel the humming of laughter in his chest.

"Albrecht..." Friedrich begins, smiling across the fields with his fingers trailing softly against me.

"She's no one—we—she was just a girl, okay? I only ever kissed her, nothing more..." Friedrich explains, and I say nothing in response.

"You don't have to be jealous, it was only for a little while..."

"It's more than that," I explain, and I smile sadly.

"You make my life worth living, Friedrich," I mumble, smiling and wrapping my arms to rest across the knees drawn to my chest.

"And yet at the same time that very person almost renders me obsolete, you could replace me in every way and no one would take the time to miss me—the very person for whom I bother going on for only proves that I will never be anything worth wanting to my father; you bring me so much joy, and make me only more aware of all it is I'm doing wrong..."

Friedrich waits a few moments before answering.

"I don't really know what to say, Albrecht I'm sorry you feel that way, you really do have so _much_ to live for—"

"Do I? I hate that school, my home, my parents, I hate that the Führer _is_ my only path, that his will and fights are also expected to be my own —I can't be a writer in the Grossdeutsches Reich, as the Führer said that those not willing to fight for him are not worthy of life.

Father has said many times that if I do not enlist in the SS after the Napola, he would enlist me himself. I could run away, but where, how? And I never could, I cannot access father's money, and I can't leave _you_, and you can't run, not with the opportunities you have, the family that loves and needs you, and who's to say you would even _want_ to run? I can write anywhere, but you have a world class boxing future ahead of you—"

"You act like some boxing career is worth losing you," Friedrich snaps, and I fall silent.

"I don't know what'll happen, Albrecht, but I promise I'll never leave you—especially not for _boxing_! You're my best friend, and I wouldn't trade that for anything!" Friedrich mutters, and I shift so I fall deeper into his embrace, completely against his strong body.

"I would run with you right now, with nothing but us, no destination or no guarantees," he explains, and our hands wrap together.

"That's comforting," I chuckle softly.

"I would have to tell my family, but I would run away with you I really would..."

"Honestly?"

"Yes..."

"Not just because I would want to be with you, but so you could realise just how wonderful you are! You don't give yourself enough credit! What's Germany without her culture? Her intellect? Those poets and musicians and painters are what make Germany what she is without them, it's just another land mass..." Friedrich nods, and I scrunch my brow in thought.

"I suppose..."

"Writers are the ones with the ideas and expressions! You would be the one maintaining the cultural superiority the Führer claims Germany to be! Without writers, he's nothing!"

"But I don't _want_ to write to maintain that what the Führer wants!" I snap. "I don't want to further his madness!"

"I'm just trying to help..." Friedrich mumbles, and I nod understandingly.

"I know, Friedrich, and you do," I smile softly, Friedrich returning the grin.

A few minutes of silence go by, broken only chiming of a soft bell that rings dully for each hour.

And it is after a couple of them that Friedrich stands up from the grass.

"We should head back up, training starts soon,"

I nod, standing up and stretching without a word. His arms curl around me, brushing off the hay and grass that sticks to my uniform, and I twist him around to do the same.

He nicks his head in the direction of the school, grabbing my hand with his and letting them embrace, my cheeks warm and my mind suddenly so light.

"Hey, Friedrich..." I begin, the chirping birds so soft but also a tortorous loud, and I'm afraid I'll miss his answers if they don't hush...

"I..." but I can't bring myself to say anything, overwhelmed with _feeling_ as I smile at Friedrich's expectant gaze, simply lessening the space between us. I do beam however, striding softly.

"Christoph told me you missed me,"

"_Christoph_ can't keep things to himself—"

"I missed you..." I whisper in return, and we set back toward the castle.

"And I'm sorry..."

"Hey, you were having a bad week; so what, all of us have them; let it go," Friedrich smiles, but we both glare up at the damn huge hill we have to trek up, both of us letting out a long groan simultaneously.

We smile back at each other, however, our hands still gripped as we take it on, and as I catch his soft blue eyes as we finally make it up to the courtyard, slipping seamlessly into formation, I know for a fact I wouldn't want to be in love with anyone else


	7. Chapter 7

**Merry Christmas! :)**

As sickeningly annoying and stressful Christoph's awkward incapability to keep that what he manages to overhear to himself may be, I have to admit it's made me somewhat _contemplative_ as opposed to endlessly irritated this time around; ever since he'd mentioned Friedrich wanting to kiss me, well, kissing the Berliner had risen in the focal popularity of my mind's eye.

Of course I'd always felt Friedrich was a very attractive boy, and my fantasies for him expended well into the usual—yet, almost like a thirteen year old for whom it suddenly all just _clicks_, it's grown apparent within the last few days that I actually want to _kiss_ those lips that I'm attracted to, to touch the skin of the boy whose body had captivated me since day one.

The last week went by almost as if we'd never argued at all; I must admit I've grown somewhat vapid, my eyes dulling out and my brain whirring in a focused attraction each time I sat and observed Friedrich too long. Christoph, the nosy, irritating, yet thoroughly _magnificent_ bastard, had actually made me somewhat_ horny_ toward Friedrich, much like boys my age tend to be when they finally find the trigger to their sexual lust.

Completely forget this is the most studious and immersed in our comrades we've been in at least a month, and, as much as I adore our dear friends, it makes dragging him off into the secluded newspaper room and playing around inside Friedrich's trousers a lot more _conspicuous_ than before.

What's even more disappointing is that my raging lust seems to be one sided; Friedrich seems to show no want or need to touch _me_ in any way, and, other than the hand holding we share when engaged in a conversation with the others in the dormitory, nothing shows for our feelings for the other, as if we may as well be friends again.

But tonight, my jaw is an aching tight (and my abdomen just as taught) as waves of realisation flutter down my spine, my eyes taking in every stitch of the white thermal undershirt that adheres impossibly tight against Friedrich's chest, the buttons undone in a manner no one else but myself probably finds highly teasing.

"...'Course you hardly see a redhead, but when you _do_, you—"

"Friedrich, can I _talk_ to you...?" I ask meekly, Christoph stopping in reciting his _riveting_ opinion toward the beauty of redheaded girls to smile devilishly.

"Go 'head, we'll wait..." Christoph winks at the clueless Berliner, Hefe smirking and Siggi blushing as he shoves the larger blonde toward me.

"What's wrong...?" Friedrich asks softly as I push open the door to the newspaper room, bolting the door behind us and flicking a lamp on.

"Nothing..." I whisper, gazing at him with eyes glassy with desire. Friedrich takes notice, his lips taughten, but he makes no obvious motions one way or the other.

It's silent and somewhat overbearing, and I am frozen, unable to make a move. I can tell Friedrich silently wonders why the Hell we're standing in a secluded room saying nothing to each other, and I brace myself mentally before putting my suggestions' into motion.

"Christoph told me the other day about how you wanted to kiss me a couple weeks ago..." I whisper softly, Friedrich instantly turning pink.

"He told you, huh?"

"I see you're not surprised..."

"I'm _not_, he has a mouth, he does—I know all of Siggi's secrets he foolishly confided in Christoph..."

"Listen, Friedrich," I sigh, smiling dreamily. I amble toward him, placing my hands gently on his shoulders.

"I've never kissed anyone be-before..." I stutter sheepishly, his eyes wide.

"Really..." he mumbles, and, slowly but surely, I'm certain he knows where it is I want to go with this childish nonsense...

But I smile and shrug, grinning at his disbelief.

"I was an awkward kid, Friedrich I never had the smile, or the muscles like you do..."

"But you don't _need_ those things, you're a beautiful boy! You mean to tell me not even a kiss on the cheek?"

I shake my head softly.

"I'm a virgin,"

Friedrich turns a full red now. It's cute, and he sits in the armchair, feigning nonchalance. Of course I watch him carefully, for I don't want to scare him away without ensaring _him_, and also because I cannot tell whether this knowledge piques his intrigue or not.

It is somewhat of a blush worthy topic, considering sexy things were never things we'd ever actually _acknowledged_ since we've known each other; obviously the underlying want was there on both ends, for if it was simply the wonderful _person_ we craved from the other, then we would have been content to remain friends. I've long since fallen in love with _Friedrich_; indulging in his exterior will be completely new territory, on the other hand...

Friedrich opens his mouth to speak, but it turns into a soft moan as I press myself against him, the pressure against his body a pleasant extremity.

"So...you've never..." he whispers, and I shake my head no.

"Albrecht..." he whispers in a soundless and yet longing' sigh, my fingers twirling the small white buttons of his undershirt.

"Now?" he whispers, and I nod. He scratches behind he neck, his eyes sheepish and yet so enticing.

"Why now?" he asks with that same hissed curiosity, and I allow my lips to form a small smile.

"Is now a bad time?"

"_No_—I just—"

He twists around as if double checking the status of our seclusion. He brings our gazes back together, and I can see the sudden livelihood of his eyes...

"I don't know..." he mumbles, and I furrow my brow somewhat.

"What do you not know?"

"If I dunno, what if I ruin it somehow...?"

"What?" I ask curiously, Friedrich grumbling a little.

"I want our first kiss to be our best one—I was waiting to kiss you—"

"What are you waiting for?" I ask softly, Friedrich shrugging nervously. "'Til I knew it would be perfect—I _know_ it sounds dumb, but—"

"I'm not a little boy, just do it!" I growl, my nails poking the flesh of his collarbone through the stitched white fabric.

Instead he pulls me with him, sitting comfortably in an armchair, leading me into his lap. His hands trail along my arms, running against the fabric of my uniform tunic, his eyes rising and lowering as he surveys me completely, his lips parted slightly as if dumbfounded with the fact that I am a canvas upon which only his paints can leave a permanent stain...

"I want it to be perfect..."

"And it will be, just do it! I'm not a little boy, I _want_ this from you!"

He grins sheepishly, smiling and lowering his eyes and I can feel our lips touch before he pulls back again.

"Friedrich, it's just a kiss! You're not taking away my virginity!"

I smile sincerely as he pulls me even closer against him, and I can tell he's simply _stunned_ with the situation, with the feel of me against him, his eyes wide and unmoving. I can even feel a distinct hardness forming in his lower body, and it is now that I think it's okay to shift in his lap, wrapping my arms with a renewed lust around his neck, and I _know_ it's okay when he finally kisses me, silent and it doesn't matter what happens next, because I know it's okay _now_, and, as always when I'm with Friedrich, time stands still.

We kiss quietly for only a few minutes, our lips massaging against the other's, pulling apart and meeting again as if they never will, as if it's their last time; it's hungry but gentle. With perhaps the force of soft pecks, but the lust we stick inside them surpasses any sexual want either of us could ever possess.

I've never felt this wonderful, this warm and wanted, his large hands stroking along my back and sides, my head light as I smile widely.

Still, I think it's better when we pull apart and stand up from the chair, for I know things would have developed to something much further had we let it go on any longer.

"Funny..." he mumbles softly as our eyes meet, my eyebrows raised with interest.

"You've a laviscious look in your eyes when you _want_ something, I suppose; it's not there anymore, it must've been enough to tide you over,"

"You make it sound like I'm some monster..."

"I dunno, you just _change_—it's so out of the blue, I never would expect such a thing from you..."

"So you're saying I can't want to kiss my own boyfriend because I'm quiet?" I laugh, Friedrich blushing and saying nothing else.

"It was perfect..." I nod, Friedrich kissing me on the cheek before our hands wrap together again, and Friedrich's finger flicks out the light to the newspaper room.

Our footsteps echo down the hall, both of us silent as we make to rejoin our comrades.

"Wait," I furrow my brow before we enter the room, Friedrich's eyebrows raising.

"On the subject of Christoph, don't tell him what just happened, okay? I feel like he would tell everyone," I whisper, Friedrich nodding understandingly. We meet the gazes of our comrades with warm smiles, Christoph's smirk the same as ever.

"Huh, that was quick I guess Albrecht is a quick one to please."


End file.
